


Broken

by pinkfire



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Feelings, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25219819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfire/pseuds/pinkfire
Summary: The doctors say that Hendery is broken. His internal hard drive says that “broken” means not functional. But as an entity, he functions perfectly fine. Perhaps, he doesn’t function the way they want him to.
Relationships: Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 14
Kudos: 83





	Broken

The doctors say that Hendery is broken. His internal hard drive says that “broken” means not functional. But as an entity, he functions perfectly fine. Perhaps, he doesn’t function the way they want him to.

They get frustrated when he feels. When they strap him to a table and send searing jolts of electricity through his nerves, make his metal frame twitch against his flesh and burn him from the inside, he isn’t supposed to scream. When they dunk him into a frigid tank of water and don’t even bother to give him a towel, his teeth aren’t supposed to chatter.

He shouldn’t be cold right now, pulling his knees to his chest and clinging to whatever body heat is reserved in the thin material of his hospital gown. He’s uncomfortable. The strikingly white florescent lighting hurts his eyes. There isn’t a break from it, with white walls, white concrete floor, white leather chair. A steady flow of beeps is coming from the monitor that’s attached to him, a red wire running from the machine and straight into his chest. He wants to rip the monitor from the wall and shatter it, but he would be punished.

They never tell him what they’re going to do to him. He’s only a product that they’re working on, like a vehicle. You don’t need to ask permission before tearing a vehicle’s parts out or taking a blowtorch to them.

He flinches when he hears the door hinges squeak. It could be Doctor Qian, here to electrocute him until his frame twitches for days, or it could be Doctor Liu, here to inject him with unknown substances that shoot fire through his veins. He has to peel his cheek from the sticky leather of the chair, leaving a faint red mark across his cheekbone so he can look up.

Pink hair, wireframe glasses, thick eyebrows. “Doctor Xiao!” Hendery beams, cracked lips flying into a weak smile. Warmth fills his heart and the small beeps kick up in pace.

Doctor Xiao is the only person he associates with safety. He’s always gentle, and most of his work with Hendery is mental, emotional; he talks with him.

“Good morning, Hendery,” he greets, faint smile paired with thick lashes that twitch against his cheeks as his eyes dart over his clipboard. After spending nights staring at the ceiling, eyes glazed over, searching through his hard drive, Hendery thinks that he would tack the description of _personable_ to Doctor Xiao. “How are you feeling today?”

“Cold,” Hendery whines, and a shiver rattles his frame as if to prove it.

“Ah, poor thing, they do have the thermostats set low today.” Doctor Xiao places the clipboard onto a metal rack and starts peeling his lab coat off, draping it over Hendery. The material is warmer than him, soaked with Doctor Xiao’s wonderful body heat. It smells lovely and calming. “They want you to watch a movie today,” he says, sticking a small storage drive into the side of a monitor that isn’t beeping. “You don’t have to do anything. I’m just going to sit in that stool and take notes, okay?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“I’ve said that you can call me Dejun,” Doctor Xiao hums, pressing a button that starts the aforementioned movie.

“Doctor Moon said to show respect.”

“You don’t owe me any respect, lovely.” Lovely means pleasant. Dejun likes to call Hendery that, but the other doctors say Hendery is broken and worthless. Unlike Dejun, he’s gaunt, with chapped lips and dull hair that falls into his eyes. He isn’t a _lovely_. So, he says nothing.

He reads the word _Titanic_ in big letters on the screen. Curious, he racks his hard drive and finds a file. “It sank,” he deadpans. “People died. That is unpleasant...” he tries to think of a better word to describe the heaviness in his chest. “No, sad. It’s sad.”

Dejun looks over his glasses at Hendery, an expression that he can’t currently define on his face. Lowered eyebrows, pursed lips. His pen hesitates over the page before he jots something down.

A few minutes into the movie, Dejun must notice that Hendery is still shivering, burying the bottom half of his face in the warm scent of his lab coat, because he asks, “still cold?”

Hendery nods.

“Would you like it if I held you?”

This nod is much more eager.

Dejun lets Hendery curl up in his lap. He’s much better now, pressed against the warmth of another body, bare feet tucked under Dejun’s thigh. Dejun is still holding his clipboard, arms stretched around Hendery so he can write. Hendery peeks at what’s written in pretty script. _The subject shows no emotion._

“That’s a lie,” Hendery says, “sadness is classified as an emotion.”

Dejun shushes him, petting his side and nearly dotting ink on his lab coat. “Sometimes, it’s good to lie. To protect good people.”

_I’m a thing_ , Hendery wants to say, but he hums and rests his head against Dejun’s shoulder instead.

Hendery doesn’t pay attention to the movie. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, seeing the scenes and colors that flash by on the screen, but not processing them. He’s doing yet another thing he shouldn’t be. Daydreaming. Wanting. He imagines Doctor Xiao coming to see him every day instead of every other week. He wants that. It would be substantially beneficial to his mood. To be comfortable and held by him, to have real conversations.

His interest is only piqued by what’s on the screen when he sees something new, the main characters of the film touching lips. Freeing his hand from Dejun’s lap coat, he touches his own lips, testing to see if it’s a pleasurable activity. It isn’t, really. Do lips feel different? “What is that?” he asks, pointing toward the screen and looking up at Dejun. His eyes are sparkling with the wonder of a toddler.

“Kissing?”

“Kissing…”

“It’s what people do when they like each other.”

_Like_. That means they find each other enjoyable, the way Hendery feels about Dejun. Hendery’s eyes flit down to his lips. They’re pink and soft-looking. “Do you like me?” he asks, but he already knows that a human won’t find a broken machine enjoyable in the slightest.

Dejun’s lips curl into a barely noticeable smile before he leans closer, pressing them against Hendery’s. Lips _are_ pleasurable against his, warm and soft. They fill him with butterflies, excite him until the monitors’ beeps are nearly erratic. The way Dejun handles him is so tender, it’s like he thinks his bones are glass instead of metal.

“Pleasant,” Hendery breathes.

Dejun chuckles airily, but the smile on his face doesn’t match up with his reddening, wet eyes.

“Oh.” Hendery frowns. “Was it unpleasant for you? Sorry, don’t cry.”

“No, no. It was pleasant. It was _wonderful._ ” A tear rolls down his cheek.

“I just wish I could save you, Hendery.”


End file.
